A Hero and a Friend: Words over a grave
by Tempered-Grief
Summary: My version of the last chapter of the seventh book. Hermione is asked to say a few words at Harry's funeral.


This was the first real fan-fic I ever posted...I just tweaked and resubmitted it so that I could have an ego booster and perhaps be inspired to get up off my lazy bum and actually write. Nothing Harry Potter related belongs in these irresponsible hands. This is just my version of the last part of the last chapter after I heard the rumor about the last word being scar.  
  
  
  
Hermione hadn't even heard Professor Dumbledore tell the congregation that she would be speaking next. Ron had to nudge her with his injured arm since his other arm was draped awkwardly over her stooped shoulders. She noticed as he swiftly brushed his own tears off of his cheeks while hers and many others's fell freely and from bloodshot eyes. Earlier, everyone had sat numbly as Mr. Weasley led Mrs. Weasley out of the large chapel, fraught with grief. She had lost two sons in the final battle against Voldemort, Charlie being her own flesh and blood, and Harry being the orphan who she had all but legally adopted. The hand of evil had done its work in the lives of the Weasleys, as well as everybody else's.  
Hermione clutched her note cards tightly in one hand. As usual, her logical foresight had come in handy and she had enchanted the cards with several anti-wrinkle and anti-smear charms. "Who needs Divination?" she thought bitterly, "I didn't have to consult a crystal ball to know that I just might cry at my best friend's funeral."  
She mounted the small platform that Dumbledore had just vacated. Ron gave her a painful smile. The right side of her friends innocent, freckled face was blistered from a curse that had almost put him in a grave right next to Harry, Charlie, Neville...so many others...). She did a quick scan of the crowd to calm herself down. She didn't get stage fright, but with the thousands who were present looking her in the eye, she didn't want to lose her trademark composure and break down in hysterics. She took a deep breath and picked up her first note card. She had never been too eloquent at speeches, but when Dumbledore had asked her to say a few words, she had been to grief stricken to say no.  
"We are here today to pay our respects for a boy to whom we all owe our very lives. Harry Potter, though he himself sometimes doubted it, was a hero from age one, and he has died a hero at age seventeen."  
She stopped there. Her words echoed harshly off the gray chapel walls. Every face in the crowd was tear streaked and sorrowful. Professor Snape had dropped his guise of hate and loathing to mourn Harry's death also. She let the note cards slide to the ground, smeared and blotchy from her tears despite the charms she had placed on them. This was no time for words that had carefully been chosen days beforehand and rehearsed just hours before. She decided to speak from her heart.  
"Yes, Harry was a hero. He was hero-worshipped, he had a hero's welcome when he came to Hogwarts, and proved his heroism on more occasions than I would have liked. But I am not here to speak of Harry the hero, the Boy Who Lived, or even the brave young man who defeated the most powerful wizard of all time with his dying breath. I am here to speak of Harry Potter, my friend."  
"In my life, I have only had two friends who I have ever fully trusted. Now I have one. My years at Hogwarts have been filled with laughter and adventure. Being friends with Harry wasn't always easy. There were times when I realized that his friendship had almost cost me death, or worse: expulsion!" With this she smiled at Ron. Once, three people had shared this private joke. Now, only two gained any joy from it.  
"Harry taught me that there was more to life than school work and getting top marks. Life just seemed to happen to him. Knowing Harry was like solving riddles, slaying Basilisks, freeing prisoners, and riding hippogriffs all at once. I can say this because those sorts of things happened al lot around him. Harry did more courageous things than I ever could, but he never did them to be a hero. Whenever someone he loved was in danger, he didn't consider the risk, he just did what any true Gryffindor would do: braved the danger and rescued his friends from the clutches of death. Two weeks ago, he did this for me. The war was looking hopeless. Wizards and Muggles alike littered the ground, more from our side than from Voldemort's. We decided to retreat and regroup, to prepare for another attack when we were stronger. Those of us who were left ran for safety, but I was captured. Harry risked his own life to get me back, and his plan succeeded. His life for mine...what a heroic thing to do. Except he didn't do it as a hero. He did it as my friend. He didn't know that he would get his chance to defeat Voldemort, he just knew that I would be set free. He loved me that much."  
"Call him what you want; the new greatest wizard who ever walked the earth, the boy who lived, a Gryffindor, claim him as your hero... The world will hail him as the savior of mankind, magical and non-magical alike. He is the world's hero, but he is not my hero. He was, and forever will be, my friend. The Gryffindor who stood up for me, the boy who laughed at my jokes, the wizard who saved my life...my friend..." Hermione could stand it no longer. She finally cried and she didn't care if the whole world saw her.  
Later that day, after many formulaic speeches and respects, the close friends and family of Harry Potter stood solemnly over his small grave in a cemetery crowded with recent piles of dirt. Ron didn't even try to hide his tears now as he waited for Hermione to cast her dirt on the grave. She let the soil slip from her limp fingers and listened as it hit the bottom with a dull thud. She turned to walk back up the hill when Ron reached out and took her hand in friendship.  
"Things are going to be a lot different from now on," he murmured into the fog that surrounded them, "what with muggles and wizards getting along as they do. The earth feels lighter with all that evil gone for good."  
"And yet," Hermione whispered, "it is heavier than before with the graves of those who died to free it." She sighed as her profound words sank first into her mind, then into her heart.   
They walked hand in hand up the hill and towards home. It was a home without Voldemort and the fear that he had instilled upon all who lived there, but it was also a home without a dear friend, and neither of them really knew how to go about life without Harry Potter, the boy who lived and died for them...a boy who was famous, known, and legendary for a singular mark upon his forehead. Who would have thought that fate would hold such a significant destiny for such a little scar? 


End file.
